


Fallen From Me (a Misplaced epilogue)

by BM Vagaybond (MintSharpie)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Freewood - Freeform, M/M, Mad King Ryan, Medieval AU, Regicide, implied mavin, mad king au, mindswap, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSharpie/pseuds/BM%20Vagaybond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Gavin isn't the same after Ryan's trans-dimensional visit. The kingdom won't be, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen From Me (a Misplaced epilogue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [achievemenhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievemenhunter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Misplaced](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580630) by [achievemenhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievemenhunter/pseuds/achievemenhunter). 



> So you need to go read "Misplaced" by achievemenhunter before you even think about touching this one. Basically, in that fic, Mad-King-Verse Gavin got the shortest end of the shortest stick in the world, and I couldn't deal with it. So here's the rest of his story - at least in my head.
> 
> A few things are different here than in the original, primarily the knighthood status of a couple of characters and the stomach-related effects of the transfer potion. I'm taking those liberties for the sake of a happy ending.
> 
> The oath is adapted from the real-world British coronation ceremony.

The kingdom was changing.

His Royal Majesty, upon his return from the alternate reality, retreated to his workroom and began to produce a staggering number of blueprints and chemical recipes. Every blacksmith and apothecary in the realm was press-ganged into churning out strange new devices and materials – powders that burned, metal tubes that clicked. The most important knights were summoned when the initial batch was complete, and trained to use the first “guns” their world had ever seen.

Shortly after that, their borders began to expand at an alarming rate.

But concurrent with the new era of war arrived a level of madness worse than any that had come before. King James, always an iron-willed and capricious monarch, was becoming genuinely unstable. His decrees grew crueler; his justice was barely deserving of the name. More and more vital resources were diverted to the troops, leaving ordinary citizens – and even the landed gentry – just this side of destitute. All spoils from freshly conquered lands were claimed by the king. His coffers grew fat with gold and rich silks; his tables groaned with rare delicacies. Yet his mood only got worse, and nobody knew why.

“Why” was, at the moment, pinned facedown to the floor of the royal bedchamber, refusing to scream as the king fucked him mercilessly for the third time that day. For months, ever since Ryan’s weeklong visit from another world, Gavin had resisted his captor’s tortures. Through lashings, deprivation, and every kind of humiliation James’ twisted brain could devise, the young knight was unswerving in his defiance, and it was driving the Mad King even madder.

But it was nothing compared to the rage that would be unleashed should James discover Gavin’s true plans.

An advantage to the monarch’s growing insanity was that even his most trusted advisors were losing faith. They’d served him fearfully for many years, but as nearness to the throne became more dangerous their already shaky loyalty wavered. It was the perfect time to foment rebellion, and Gavin had decided that enough was enough.

Ryan had said he was strong. He intended to prove it.

The knowledge of James’ impending fall kept Gavin resolute. Though his privileges were stripped from him, though he did not resist when the king abused and raped him, he never once begged for mercy. When it was possible he met James’ eyes, the fire in his emerald stare making the monarch seethe with fury. His punishments were redoubled – but Gavin had tasted freedom, and would never break again.

Instead he recruited people to his side, starting with the prison guards who watched over him at night. It was pitifully easy, as guards in the Mad King’s dungeon were treated little better than the convicts under their care. They drew in the quartermaster, the squires, the younger knights; these in turn brought the more senior knights around; and from there the conspiracy grew at an astonishing pace.

Through notes and whispers and subtle glances, the court’s allegiances turned. The royal advisors joined them, one noble at a time, speed only limited by how long it took them to trust each other. The palace staff approached them on their own. With the civilians’ help, a wave of mutiny spread through the general populace. Soon the whole kingdom teetered on knife’s edge, yearning for the day they would be out from under the tyrant’s thumb.

That day couldn’t come soon enough for Gavin. He knew he had to be patient, knew they had to have the support of everyone powerful enough to resist before he made his move. Or rather, before Sir Michael did – nobody would follow a disgraced slave of a knight, even if he was the mastermind of regicide. But the champion of the realm, now, he was a perfect figurehead. His fame, strength, and beauty endeared him to all, and his bloodline was the purest in the kingdom. When James was dead, if all went according to plan, Michael would take the throne.

It was hard to cling to that promise with his body bruised and beaten, chafing against the itchy wool carpet and pounding with the rhythm of James’ furious lust. Yet Gavin remained silent, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut, hoping against hope that this would be the final time today he’d have to endure it.

At last the king finished, violent hiss interrupting his otherwise unceasing stream of verbal abuse. His grip tightened on Gavin’s hair, yanking it hard enough to tear locks right out of his scalp. Tears sprang from the young knight’s eyes despite his efforts to keep them in check.

“You worthless piece of hog’s shit,” James growled. “I _own_ you, Gavin, you are _nothing_. You are lower than a worm, lower than the slime on your pathetic father’s boot… What would your parents say, I wonder, seeing their spawn like this? Maybe I should have them brought here to watch. Or maybe I should flay them alive, and make you look on as they die screaming. Then you’ll come to heel, you’ll bow to me again like the fucking slave you are…”

Gavin went cold inside. Physical and mental tortures he could take, but the threat to his family was enough to truly scare him. He knew it was not mere empty words spoken in a moment of passion – the king would not hesitate to follow through.

His conspiracy was out of time.

He was thrown into his cell for the night, naked skin protesting as he collapsed on the freezing stone. The two guards had to put on a heartless show until the king left, but when the dungeon door clanged shut they immediately rushed to Gavin’s side.

“What do you need, my lord?” asked Gareth, his jailer. He’d been one of the first to take up the cause, and in the time since had become a steadfast friend.

“Salve,” Gavin answered, wincing as he sat up. His whole body was one solid ache, striped with lines of white fire. “And a messenger.”

Raoul, the overseer, immediately strode away to the storeroom. Gareth opened the cell door and knelt to unlock the shackles that weighted Gavin’s wrists.

“He was vicious today, it seems,” the soldier murmured sympathetically. Gavin rubbed feeling back into his hands.

“You’ve no idea,” he said coldly. “We have to move. Tomorrow.”

Gareth looked up, startled. “My lord?”

“His tongue wagged too loosely tonight. He plans to purge the court of traitors – and to find them with his blade.” The lie flowed easily, entirely believable given the king’s recent behavior. For all Gavin knew, it could even be true; what matter if his reason for setting things off was a little more selfish?

Raoul returned while Gareth gasped in fear. He bore an armful of blankets, a plate of food, and a small jar of soothing ointment. Behind him trailed a page named Diana, all of thirteen years old and vividly embarrassed by the sight of Gavin’s naked form.

“Find Sir Michael,” the knight told her as he tended his wounds. “Tell him that his mother has borne a daughter and named her Hope. Tell him that _exactly_ , word for word, understand?”

The young woman repeated the message, stammering a little as she avoided looking anywhere near him.

“It’s all right, love,” he said gently. “Look at me, at what our Mad King has done.”

Diana hesitantly let her eyes fall on him. They widened, taking in the tapestry of bruises and scars that ravaged every inch of him. He’d been slashed, whipped, scratched, beaten – but worst of all was the brand. A jagged crown was seared into the flesh above his heart, hair burned away around it and skin still charred. The girl shivered, but her face became as steel.

“I will not serve such a monster,” she whispered. “I’ll fall on my sword before I join his court.”

“You won’t have to,” Gavin said, wrapping himself in blankets and hiding the terrible sight. “Complete your task and the king will die tomorrow.”

“I will, my lord.” Diana met his eyes at last. “On my shield, I so swear.”

“You’ll make a fine knight someday.” Gavin smiled. “Perhaps you will be my squire next year?”

“It would be my honor, sir.”

She bowed, and left the dungeon at a run.

“What does the message mean?” asked Raoul when the page had gone. “What will Sir Michael do?”

“He’ll have the cooks slip a slow-acting poison into the king’s meal,” Gavin answered, beginning to eat his own. “He’ll also leave a dagger in the king’s quarters for me. When his majesty brings me there, I’ll be able to overpower him, and cut his throat.”

“Why not a stronger drug, my lord? Why finish it with blood?”

Gavin put his trencher down, pure hatred ice-cold on his face.

“Because I want him to die by my hand.”

In the morning his ordeal began for the last time. He was summoned to James’ bedchamber as usual, endured the horrors once more; but a cruel smile was fixed upon his lips throughout. When the king left for his council meeting he was angrier than ever, and strapped Gavin spread-eagled on the bed to await his return. The knight sighed, grateful for the softness at his back, if nothing else.

An hour later Michael arrived. He entered with an eager smile that vanished like smoke at the sight of his friend.

“Gods above, Gavin,” he murmured, approaching the four-poster with shock, disgust, and pity warring on his face. “We should have done this weeks ago.”

“We were not ready weeks ago,” the prisoner said. “Get me out of here. Is everyone in place?”

Michael struggled with the ties at Gavin’s wrists and ankles. “Yes. The king’s midday is drenched in poison, and the color guard will burn the flag as soon as they get the order.”

“And the heralds? The Archbishop?”

“Ready for the coronation. We’ve even smuggled in the new crown.”

Gavin sat up and slid off the bed. “Good. Very good.”

Though nakedness didn’t humiliate him anymore, he felt a delighted thrill at being able to wear real clothes again. The king’s clothes, no less – the kilt of royal tartan could be belted, the billowing white shirt tucked in to fit Gavin’s emaciated frame. He even found a broach emblazoned with the Haywood crest and pinned it to his sash.

When he was dressed, Michael presented him with the dagger. It was twelve inches long and polished to a wicked sheen, blade razor-sharp and hilt wrapped in supple green leather. A gleaming emerald pommel and bronze-plated crossguard completed the elegant weapon.

“Sir Pattillo had it made in your colors.”

Gavin took it reverently. “I have waited a long time for this,” he murmured, finger hovering over the unblooded edge without touching it. “Now the moment is here, it hardly seems real.”

“Well, good luck,” Michael said apologetically. “I have to return before I am missed. We shall wait for you in the Great Hall when the king is done eating.”

“He will not be king for much longer.”

The next few hours were harder to bear than any number of lashes. Freedom was at hand. Revenge was so close he could taste it. Gavin’s nerves vibrated with tension and every wound screamed for retribution. He paced the room like a caged tiger, eyes catching on painfully familiar things: the bottle of oil on the bedside table; the whip, cast uncaringly on the floor; the writing desk, over which Gavin had often been bent.

The bile rose in his throat.

When James stumbled into his room after lunch, he couldn’t believe his clouded eyes. Through the wavering haze of sedating poison he saw an empty bed, sheets and pillows shredded, feathers strewn everywhere. His desk was overturned and ink pooled like shadows across the floor. Any item that could be moved had been violently thrown – even the tapestries on the walls had been viciously slashed.

“What the…”

“Welcome back, sire,” Gavin purred, stepping out from behind the door and pushing it shut behind them. “Was the midday feast to your liking?”

James could only blink. In his addled state he could see the young knight, dressed like the king himself, but rippling strangely as if made of water. Something glimmered hypnotically in his hand.

“Your reign is at an end, my liege,” Gavin said, moving forward. “For too long you have terrorized this land. Too long, you have hurt me. Too long you have ground us under your heel, and we are done with it. Done with _you_.”

“Gavin? How dare you…”

“How dare _I_?” the knight cried, forcing James to the edge of the bed. “How dare _you_ take me from my family? Ruin my name, rip my sword and shield from me, force me to lie with you, violate my body, starve me, beat me, make my life a living hell…!”

Gavin’s voice rose until he was screaming, one hand pinning James to the mattress and the other jamming the dagger against his throat. He panted harshly, regaining his composure while his victim lay drugged and helpless.

“This has been a long time coming,” he breathed. “It’s over.”

“You will never be rid of me,” spat James with a manic grin. “Every day you’ll see my mark, seared on your worthless flesh. Every night you’ll remember what I’ve done to you. I am burned into your pathetic soul, Gavin, and you will _never_ -.”

His throat opened in a flash of steel. Royal blood jetted out in a vicious spray, drenching Gavin’s face and hands in thick ruby heat. The dagger glittered horribly, dripping, silver blade washed in red.

“No,” the avenging knight whispered. “I will always be free.”

\---

He walked from the room as if in a dream. Out in the great hall, Michael waited – along with what was undoubtedly the entire royal court. The air was tense with a thousand bated breaths, anxious, daring to hope…

Gavin thrust his bloody dagger high.

“The Mad King is dead!”

He didn’t hear the explosion of cheering and applause through the ringing in his ears, and all he could see was Michael, standing numbly by the throne like he couldn’t quite believe it was true. Gavin took a trembling step forward and fell to his knees on the dais.

“Long live the king.”

His tears spattered joyfully on the floor until Michael raised him up and pulled him into a profound embrace. Each could feel the other’s thundering heart, free of fear for the first time in almost a decade. Throughout the hall other people did the same, crying and kissing total strangers in sheer exuberant relief.

At last Michael let Gavin go. The old king’s blood now stained his face and clothes, too, but it couldn’t dim the light in his eyes.

He turned to Archbishop Hullum, who bore in his hands a glittering golden crown. A sudden hush descended on the hall as Michael knelt, bowing his head for the oath.

“Will you, Sir Michael of House Jones, solemnly promise and swear to govern and protect the peoples of this kingdom?”

“I solemnly promise to do so.”

“Will you, to your power, cause law, justice, and mercy to be executed in all your judgments?”

“I will.”

“And will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the laws of our land and of our gods, for as long as your reign shall endure?”

“All this I swear to do; these promises I will perform and keep. May the gods aid me on my path.”

The Archbishop held the crown aloft for all to see, then slowly lowered it to rest on Michael’s auburn curls.

“Arise, King Michael!”

He stood to a roar of jubilation. Around him, the King’s Guard unsheathed their swords to salute the new monarch; Sirs Pattillo, Narvaez, Ramsey, and Burns flanked the throne, grinning hugely with blades held high.

Michael ascended the five steps and turned to face the crowd, looking awestruck at the people who were now his subjects. Another wave of quiet spread from the front of the hall to the back as rank upon rank of courtiers sank to their knees in homage.

The new king took a deep breath, and got to work.

\---

There was not a moment to waste. Heralds and messenger birds were dispatched to every corner of the kingdom to declare the glad tidings. Wars were halted and treaties forged, documents sealed with the Jones’ bear rampant instead of the bull of the Haywoods. The royal coffers were opened to repair the damage eight long months of madness had wrought upon the land. Over it all flew a new flag: a brown bear on a red field, crowned in gold and wielding a silver sword.

The castle itself changed, too, though in more subtle ways. The dungeon was overhauled and the torture room demolished; new contracts were signed with palace staff, ensuring fairer treatment and pay for all. There were plans to destroy the Mad King’s laboratory, but Gavin – now the crown’s closest friend and advisor – requested that it be preserved, at least for a while. He did not divulge his reasons, but that was of no consequence. The savior of the realm could have whatever he wanted, no questions asked.

As Ryan had done before him, Gavin delved into the Mad King’s notes. He followed in two pairs of footsteps, painstakingly measuring and mixing the ingredients he needed to recreate a certain reality-bending potion.

Two months after the revolution – ten months after Ryan’s arrival in their world – Gavin sat back with a sigh. On the bench before him rested four small flasks, each half-full of a viscous, murky liquid. In all respects it matched the descriptions in James’ notebooks, but he did not look forward to ingesting it. The extra doses were insurance in case he couldn’t keep it down.

There were other preparations to be made before he drank the stuff. He wrote himself a letter explaining the situation; Gareth and Diana were summoned to his quarters and briefed. They were highly skeptical, but trusted him implicitly and swore to do as he said. Michael, too, was informed, and had a similar reaction, but all three promised to keep Gavin’s experiment a deathly secret.

At last, he was ready. A few hours after dinner he stood over his chamber-pot, pinched his nose, and chugged the potion as fast as he could. Instantly he was on his knees, eyes watering, doubled over in pain and swallowing rapidly to keep from throwing up. When he could stand to open his mouth he gulped some fresh water, and a few minutes after that could find his feet again. There was a weird ache under his belly that had nothing to do with nausea; it felt like someone had hitched a rope to his stomach and was trying to lead him like a horse. According to the books, that meant it was working.

He smiled through the tears in his eyes – he’d see Ryan again soon.

* * *

 

“I don’t feel so good,” Gavin whined.

Geoff looked across the room intending to make a scathing comment, but the sight of his adopted son withered the words on his tongue. Gavin was hunched in his chair, XBox sitting idle as he wrapped both arms around his middle. The older man instantly grew worried.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Dunno. Feels like someone’s trying to yank my stomach out.”

Ryan, who’d looked up when Gavin spoke, went white as a sheet. “Uh,” he stammered, mind working furiously. “Y’know, I heard there was a nasty bug going around this week. You should probably go home before you give it to us.”

Gavin groaned and dropped his head on his desk with a _thunk_.

“We’re done filming for today, Gav,” Geoff said, “but I have a meeting with Matt in an hour. Can you wait?”

“I’ll take him,” Ryan offered, a little too fast. “I can stay late to finish this.”

Everyone but Gavin glanced at him sidelong. He felt a pang at their mistrust, but it was an old wound now.

“That’d be nice, Ry,” the younger man said, much to the others’ surprise. Ryan saved his work and helped Gavin out the door under their coworkers' suspicious gaze.

As soon as they were in the car he started asking questions.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Couple days I guess. Hasn’t been this bad, though.”

“Is it, like, a pulling feeling? Right under your belly, about here?” He gestured to the place where his seatbelt crossed his gut.

“Yeah, actually.” Gavin looked at him strangely. “How’d you know?”

Ryan’s hands tightened on the wheel, enough to make the rest of him tremble.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I believe a lot of crap, Ryan, you know that.”

“Fuck,” the driver muttered, and pulled to the side of the road. He flipped on the hazard lights and stared off into space. “Remember that hypothetical you came up with one time, about alternate versions of ourselves, and whether fooling around with them was cheating or not?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember… Remember when I wasn’t myself?”

Gavin paled, and his hand went unconsciously to his throat. “How could I forget?”

“Well…” Ryan swallowed, bracing himself. “That’s actually, literally true. There was another me in my body. From a different universe. One where I… he… was the real Mad King.”

Gavin just blinked. “You’re having a laugh.”

“I swear, I’m not. That’s what really happened. He came here, and I went there. And let me tell you, it was horrible.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Gavin was pressed against the door of the car as if afraid of another psychotic break. Ryan couldn’t blame him.

“Gavin, I _swear_ ,” he repeated, meeting the younger man’s eyes, hoping he’d see the truth there. “Before it happened, I felt the same kind of pull you’ve got right now. If it’s stronger now, you’re going to be switched with a different version of yourself. Soon. And I can’t do a fucking thing to stop it.”

He looked so desperate, so anguished, that Gavin felt the beginnings of doubt. But on top of that came an even more intense pain, one that had him groaning and curled up in his seat.

“Shit,” Ryan cursed, and slammed the car back into gear. “I’m taking you to my place. No arguments.”

Gavin would have been scared if he didn’t hurt so much. His head was starting to swim and with it strange images flooded his mind: a room of stone, unfamiliar people in armor. But Ryan was still talking – babbling, even, and Gavin clung to the sound, suddenly believing every word.

“Listen to me, it’s going to suck, you’re going to have to deal with _him_ again and I am so, so sorry! There’s a workroom in the palace, you have to get there and find my notebook, use it to make the potion that’ll take you back. I’ll try to make it here too – I don’t know if I can but I promise I’ll do everything, _anything_ to bring you home. Gavin, please, _please_ remember, no matter what, I love you…!”

Then the world _flexed_ , and he was gone.

\---

He woke in a bed of furs, staring at a ceiling he’d never seen before. Two people sat at his bedside: a middle-aged man wearing chainmail, and a teenage girl in a brown leather jerkin. Gavin was surprised to see that it bore a green crest, emblazoned with a bronze bird and crossed arrows. It looked very familiar for some reason.

“My lord?” she said hesitantly.

“Ugh,” Gavin groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows. “What happened? Where am I? Who are you?”

The man wordlessly passed him a folded piece of heavy, off-white paper. His name was written across it in neat, flowing script. Inside were several paragraphs in the same hand.

 _Gavin_ , the letter began. _I must first apologize for doing this to you. I assure you my reasons are sound, and all this is done for Ryan’s sake. Second, and of vital importance: do not dwell on memories. Focus on absolutely anything else, or you will face a misery such as you have never known. Do not look at your body or anything outside this room. I would spare you the knowledge of what I have endured, for the sake of your mind and of your love._

 _On the table beside you is a vial._ Gavin glanced to the side, and saw there was indeed a flask of some strange substance placed there. Three, in fact. _I used the potion inside to exchange bodies with you. Drinking it will send you home within two days. Do so as soon as you are able. I need very little time in your world and you must return with all haste. The flavour is not pleasant, so there are three doses in case you have trouble. Should you require more, send Gareth to the workroom. He will prepare it for you._

_Again, seek to learn nothing about this world. Ask no questions and listen to no answers. I have left books for you to read and games to keep your mind occupied. I hope they are to your liking._

_Thank you for your patience and understanding. When you return to your home, be sure to cherish what and who you have. You are a lucky man, Gavin. Appreciate it._

_Your humble servant,_

_Sir Gavin, House of Free_

Gavin’s head spun. He looked from one attendant to the other, dredging up memories despite his own warning: he was a knight; this girl was his squire; the man was his friend.

“This is mental,” he murmured. The letter, and the frantic words Ryan had left him with, made him quite inclined to do as he was bidden and not pry too far into his alternate life. His own memories of what not-Ryan had done provided extra motivation – if a mere week in the man’s presence had been traumatizing, he couldn’t begin to imagine what a lifetime under the Mad King’s rule had done to his knight-self.

“Are you well, my lord?” the squire – Diana, he remembered – asked, worry plain on her face. Gavin swelled a little at being addressed like that.

“I think so,” he answered, moving to the edge of the bed. “How long was I out? Have you been here the whole time?”

“You have not been asleep for long, sir,” the man – Gareth – said. “You also instructed us that you were not to be left alone at any time, so we shall remain here until you… ah, return.”

“Okay.” He vaguely remembered giving that order. “What’s there to do in this dump?”

“You said that you could read, sleep, or play chess, and naught else,” Diana said apologetically.

Gavin sighed. “Is there anything to eat?”

“Your lordship should drink the potion first.” Gareth offered one of the flasks. “I am told it is best consumed on an empty stomach. You may wish to be closer to the chamber-pot, as well.”

“Bloody fantastic,” Gavin grumbled. “The sooner I take this, the sooner I get home, yeah?”

“Indeed.”

“Fine.”

The first dose came right back up, but he managed to keep the second one down. When his stomach stopped turning he felt that gentle tug again, and resigned himself to a long, boring couple of days.

* * *

 

Sir Gavin opened his eyes and immediately jerked in shock: once because it had worked, and twice because the first thing he saw was James’ face. It took a moment to realize that it couldn’t be James; the expression was too soft, too concerned, too loving.

“Ryan,” he breathed, and the tears began to fall.

“Gavin? Is that you, or… or other you?”

“The other,” Gavin said, sitting up with effort on a mattress that was far too squishy. His body felt strange, weaker but entirely whole, unmarred by scars or old wounds.

Ryan, upon hearing his answer, sat back with rage in his eyes. “How dare you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “How _dare_ you send him there? Back to that place, back to _him_!”

“Peace,” Gavin said, raising his hands in submission. “King James is no more. Your Gavin is perfectly safe, and will return to you soon. I have ensured it.”

Anger gave way to confusion. “What? Then why are you here?”

“To let you know how much of a difference you made in my world,” the knight said quietly, reaching for Ryan’s hand. The older man took it, cautiously. “You made me strong again. I killed James myself, two months gone. Michael is king now. They call him The Righteous.”

“Wait, Michael? Weird.” Ryan blinked. “What about you?”

“My shield is returned to me. I am… well. Much the worse for wear, but I have a life again, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad.” Ryan shook his head. “I’ve felt so guilty about leaving you there, you have no idea.”

“I know.” Gavin pulled himself closer and touched Ryan’s face. “But I never blamed you. I missed you dearly, but never resented you.” He winced, feeling the pull start in his gut. “Your Gavin has taken the potion I left for him. I have two days at most before he returns. Let us make the best of them.”

“Wait,” Ryan said, sudden dread creeping up his spine. “When I was James, I had his memories. Now Gavin’s you… Oh, god, he’s gonna remember everything that monster did to you!”

“I have made provision for that,” Gavin reassured him, squeezing his hand. “He will be distracted, exposed to nothing that might trigger recollection. His time there will also be short. With luck he will remember nothing.”

“With luck,” Ryan muttered. He was afraid, but powerless; he could only trust that other-Gavin’s preventative measures were enough. Besides, the opportunity to be close to him again - either version, it didn't really matter - had fallen right into his lap. The temptation was impossible to resist.

“I have to call Geoff,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. Gavin blinked at the strange, flat device until his shared memories filled in the blanks. “Listen, can you talk to him, too? He won’t be okay with you staying at my place unless he hears it from you. Oh, and pretend you’re sick.”

“Sure,” the younger man said, digging for the right speech patterns so he’d sound like the real thing.

The call went to voicemail – Geoff was still in his meeting. Ryan closed his eyes and began to leave a message.

“Hey, Geoff, it’s Ryan. Gavin’s in rough shape and doesn’t want your family to catch this, so I took him to my place. Here he is.” He passed the phone off.

“Hi, Geoff,” Gavin groaned, quite convincingly. “It’s all right. Ry’s taking care of me until this bloody virus goes away. I’ll be fine.” He handed it back.

“So, yeah. I said I’d work late today, but I think I’d better stay here. Can you put that GTA stuff on the shared server? I’ll finish the editing at home. Uh, that’s pretty much it. Tell the guys we’re sorry. Thanks. Bye.”

He hung up and turned back to Gavin with a smile. “That should be good. So… what do you want to do while you’re here?”

“Pretty much everything,” the knight laughed. “But first…”

He leaned in, and kissed Ryan with such tenderness that they both got light-headed. They wrapped around each other like the long-lost lovers they were, fell onto the bed, and stayed there for hours.

\---

The switch came on Friday. The two Gavins curled up in pain as it hit – one eager to return home, one mournful and reluctant.

Gavin regained consciousness in his modern world with relief and a brand new perspective. He’d followed his own instructions to the letter, and though the time had been excruciatingly dull, he’d escaped without any tortured memories. Only a vague feeling of past horrors clung to the back of his mind; that, and the plea to appreciate what he had. Learning the truth of Ryan’s breakdown, how it was a hundred and ten percent not his fault and would never _ever_ happen again, lifted a huge weight from his soul.

He woke to see Ryan’s worried eyes, and flung himself wholeheartedly into his arms.

\---

Sir Gavin stayed in bed for a while, replaying the memories he’d greedily stolen from his other self. An entire life of happy days and incredible experiences pushed back his own wretched one; years of a loving relationship with Ryan replaced a decade of James’ subjugation. For the first time he could remember, he felt whole again.

The vile workshop was demolished at last. Michael’s coronation had been a turning point; there was still much to be done, but his reign began a new era of peace and stability the likes of which had not been seen for years. The economy surged with work for all. Gavin had brought knowledge of new, nonviolent technologies back with him, causing the general quality of life to improve drastically. Through it all he remained faithfully by Michael’s side, learned to laugh again, to love. And under the hand of The Righteous, he began to heal.

The kingdom had changed.


End file.
